


It's So Easy (When You Know the Rules)

by RDcantRead



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Discrimination, Fluff, Fortune Telling, Getting Together, Multi, Prompt Fic, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-13 10:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21242663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RDcantRead/pseuds/RDcantRead
Summary: John Deacon isn't looking for an adventure, he just wants to know what's going on.





	It's So Easy (When You Know the Rules)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lover_of_blue_roses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lover_of_blue_roses/gifts).

> Title from "Play the Game" by Queen.
> 
> For the Dork Lovers discord server HalloQueen fic exchange.  
Prompt: Any ship, vampire au, fortune teller, masquerade ball.

John isn't necessarily unaware of the other clans, he just isn't aware of them. He couldn't tell you anything about them, other than the fact that they existed. But really, how was he to know about the other clans, he was turned nigh on two months ago, and his Sire was hunted down and killed not long after John was turned.

Given that he'd only known the guy for a solid two weeks, he wasn't too sad, though the fact that humans were so cruel as to murder their kind was depressing, and very disheartening, given that he used to be human.

His clan was one that other clans apparently dismissed as useless, a clan with no real power. He hadn't had enough time for his education into being a vampire, so he didn't know much about anything to do with being a vampire, how to behave, what formal occasions there are. 

Though he did get an invite to the annual Masquerade Ball and Festival. He assumes that given it's a masquerade, he'll have to wear a mask, keep his identity hidden. He doesn't know why the ball and festival exists, but he supposes that vampires need some time off too.

It surprises John that vampires would even consider something as fun as a masquerade ball and festival, considering the terrifying stories he grew up listening to, the way everyone dared each other to knock on the neighbour who they thought was a vampire's door. He was raised to hate vampires, to be frightened of them. 

Though, maybe he should disregard his previous beliefs, especially considering what people believe concerning people like him. People like John. Homosexuals. The discrimination shown towards him is the same as the discrimination shown towards vampires. 

Though, they're one and the same now, given how John's a vampire now. He struggles to get his head around that sometimes. He's a vampire, he's one of the creatures of the night, lords of darkness, users of evil. He's one of them. 

And John doesn't want to discriminate against anyone, he doesn't want to make others hurt or feel uncomfortable, but humans are despicable creatures, especially when they are in groups.

But it's not just vampires that face such discrimination, it's werewolves, fae folk, angels, werewolves, demons, all of the supernatural beings face persecution. Granted, some of them are harder to kill, but they are all people. People who live normal lives, people who have to hide who they are to get a job, to have a proper life.

He has to go to a hidden part of Kensington Market to find anything for the masquerade, he knows that he can't come in human clothing and masks, he's smart enough (and anxious enough) to realise that the masks that are meant to be worn for the vampire masquerade would be enchanted. And they are, they hide the identity of the wearer completely, they silence the magic signature all supernatural beings have, and they can only be taken off by the person they are made for. 

John doesn't know how much such a mask would cost, and he doesn't know what he should wear for the masquerade either, but he assumes that the people at Kensington would be nice enough to inform him of all the etiquette and rules that always apply to such gatherings. 

He makes his way to the market, he knows how to get there, everyone does, people telling others to never enter the supernatural section of the market. He makes his way there, the cover of night masking his intentions, and hiding him from the cruel eyes of humans. 

Many vampires hunt during the night, and John knows how dangerous it is, even for vampires, to be out at night. The moon's light illuminates that road in front of John, and the beauty of the night was hidden by London smog and light pollution.

The market is deathly silent, the main area is closed off and empty, stalls missing patrons and vendors. The atmosphere is cold and impersonal, the lack of people and warmth providing an unsettled air. He really wants to turn away, go back to his empty apartment and leave this darkened place.

He braves onward, the atmosphere becoming thick with mystery and a feeling of magic in the air, the heaviness sparking excitement within John, he can practically taste the thick texture of magic. 

He enters through the door at the back, from the outside it's hidden, the door shrouded in a glamour, hiding the bustling city beyond its walls, fae folk roam the streets, wings out and proud for everyone to see, vendors scamming people out of their money to make a living. 

Everywhere John looked he could see the mystical lights, all he could smell was the lingering scent of ancient pathways, of old blood.

His green eyes were rapt, the bright colours cloaked in the darkness of night dragging his attention away from the hidden stalls, veiled in shadow, shrouded in the deep cover of ancient magic.

John's eyes flitted from stall to stall, from vendor to vendor, judging the worth of each of the sellers. He's feeling a peculiar feeling, pushing him, pulling him, beckoning him. It guides him, leads him through the attention-seeking crowd to a stall, one hidden in darkness, manned by two men, older than John, he can tell, and the elder one reeks of old blood. 

The blond jumps over to him, his aura is warm and inviting, but with an underlying darkness, deeper and blacker than the other man's. His attractive face surveys him for a second, blue eye seeing more than they let on.

"I'm… uh, here to buy a mask?" John begins his statement ending in a rising tone, giving a questioning cadence to his voice.

The blond laughs, his voice sending pleasant shivers down John's spine, high pitched, but with a raspy edge, usually reminiscent of a 50-year-old chain smoker, not a twenty-something-year-old vampire, but it only serves to make the man seem more attractive in John's eyes.

"Are you?" The man asks teasingly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. His question makes John pause awkwardly for a few seconds before the exchange is interrupted once more by the man's charismatic laughter, "I have the perfect one for you, only if you'll let me, of course."

The man's earnest expression convinced John of the man's trustworthiness, and his aura had brightened hopefully, the atmosphere around him only serving to amplify the effect.

John, slightly reluctantly, nodded, prompting the man into grabbing his hand and dragging him into the back of the stall, where there seemed to be a work desk set up, and several books for enchanting displayed in a large case behind the desk. The man frantically gathered some books and cleared the cluttered area, smiling sheepishly at John.

"I wasn't expecting you to come today, you see, and I hadn't tidied up," the blond explained to John, before shouting out the front for his older friend to come to help him with his work.

Fred (he assumed that was his name, given what the blond had shouted) entered through the same beaded entrance John had. Radiating a powerful presence, that didn't at all detract from his exotic beauty, from his defined cheekbones to his plump lips.

His aura was inviting, beckoning John closer, and it's dark elements seemed to only be linked to his power, not to his personality, though curiously it mingled happily with the blond's aura, the proximity to each other brightening their auras dramatically.

"Oh, hello darling! Here for a mask, I presume," Fred had a peculiar accent, not typically British, but obviously cultivated in London, "I hope Roger here hasn't been too nasty," Roger interrupted the other's words with an irritated shout, "I'm Freddie, now, what do we have here?" At this, Freddie began muttering to himself as he examined John, who only stood there awkwardly.

Roger began clearing the desk in front of John, and setting out the various books and materials for what John assumed was for Freddie's use in making a mask.

It appeared that Freddie knew exactly what he was doing since he had only taken a few seconds before making his way to the desk, beckoning for John to sit in front of him. Roger immediately sat beside Freddie, resting his head on his shoulder.

"This usually takes much longer, but we knew you were coming, so we sort of prepared everything before you'd arrived," Roger spoke softly, seemingly not wanting to disturb Freddie's work. 

John choked slightly at Roger's words, "H-how did you know I was going to come?" His voice had a panicked tone, he wasn't at all expecting such a revelation, especially one that ominous.

"Well, it's just what we do, y'know?" No, John didn't know, but he was willing to pretend, "Freddie's a fortune teller," he confided, "He can see the future~" Roger's voice took on a mysterious tone like he was telling a scary story to a group of preschool children. 

At this, Freddie snorted and elbowed Roger sharply, "Stop that shit," he then turned to John to explain Roger's words, "Roger's just a drama queen. I can see the future, but I'm no fortune teller, I'm not pretty enough!" Freddie smiled widely at John, his teeth visible as he laughed. His teeth startled John slightly, though he supposed he had no room to judge, his fangs were clearly visible. Freddie faltered slightly, making to cover his mouth before John saw Roger reach out and place his hand on Freddie's thigh to comfort him slightly.

He was curious about the nature of the two vampires' relationship, both of them seemed remarkably intimate with each other, and they obviously shared an extraordinary bond, given the way their auras interacted. 

Freddie continued working with the mask as Roger made conversation with John, interjecting every few minutes to elaborate on anything Roger was saying. 

He watched Freddie work with the mask, with Roger sometimes pointing out things to him. The disguise came together in pieces, the top being a smooth navy velvet, decorated with dark swirls of shiny black, looking almost like ink against the matte surface. The mask looked simple enough, with a dark blue trim around the edges, giving the mask a refined look, and added an extra layer of tasteful glamour to it. He could feel the magic being woven into the mask with every stitch Freddie put down, the mask gaining its own aura and consciousness, becoming a neutral grey. He assumed that it would match his own once he put it on, though he didn't know how they worked, maybe his would match its. 

"Oh, don't worry about the mask, she won't bite darling," Freddie spoke as if he had read his mind, "She's just there to check that it's you, that's all," he clarified. He sounded as if he had to say this to everyone who bought a mask. Though he probably did.

It took hours before the mask was ready, its velvety feel being inlaid on the inside too, presumably not only for comfort but to hide the spells that are etched into the fabric. It was indeed beautiful, perfectly John's style, it was plain, but with hidden details and carvings.

He had eventually arrived back in his flat, the streets of the market just as beautiful and saturated the second time he was walking through them. People were beginning to set up stalls in the main area of Kensington Market, dawn had broken a while ago.

The air outside of the synthetically produced heat of the market was cold and biting, the wind nipping painfully at John's uncovered arms and face, his long hair flying in his face. His newly made mask was wrapped in a beautiful fabric packet, safe from being stolen, apparently. His flat was located some way away, and only accessible from Kensington by tube. He was stuffed between many warm bodies, reminding John of how thirsty he was, he hoped that he would be home soon.

He was greeted by nothing when he arrived home, the flat was shared by John and empty space, empty space being the main inhabitant. He made his way to the kitchen, his blood bags were kept in the fridge. It was very inconvenient to be a vampire, people saw the blood and ran away, never giving a damn about the person behind the fangs. But that was life, what could John really do about it? The answer was not much.

\-----

Historically, Vampire clans had only one thing in common, wanting to be the top dog. In general, this idea didn’t usually go as planned, and they usually ended up in a bitter feud until they decided that enough was enough. 

That hadn’t happened a lot. Vampires weren’t known for forgetting about a tiny detail that a person did wrong, and they definitely didn’t forgive. The fact that there were clans in the first place suggested that there were many wars in vampiric history, and the fact that they still existed pointed to either unwilling peace, ongoing war, or an unhealthy wish to preserve tradition. 

In fact, it was the latter option, with a healthy dose of the second one. Vampires didn’t die, so vampires didn’t grow. The only thing that broke up feuds in the olden days, and the only thing that brought with it change nowadays, was the introduction of new blood into clans. (And rebel vampires, but that’s not a topic for now.)

New blood wasn’t often introduced into the community, and as such it often caused a stir throughout all the clans. On this occasion, Count Evans had decided that he had had enough of the discrimination against members of his clan and decided to turn a young nineteen-year-old boy. Given that he had died not three weeks after he turned John Deacon, he had no chance to tell him what was what, who was who and what the hell was even going on.

Count Evans also had no idea how to actually raise a Childe of the Night, as his Sire was one of those pesky rebel vampires who decided to try a new age-y kind of thing when raising Children and raised him on cannabis and incense. All Count Evans knew was that he had to teach John Deacon everything he knew so that he could eventually inherit his title and position in the Court. He had failed in his task.

Though he was slightly happy that he had died as he didn’t have to struggle with weird power surges or John’s eventual “You’re not my real dad!” phase. (The other Sires would speak his name in reverence and bitterness, gifting upon him the title of “Lucky Bastard” many millennia after his murder.)

Vampire clans had many different reasons to exist, but the main one was that there were too many vampires, though that wasn’t the case now. Centuries spent with the same people kind of changed your perspective, and definitely mutated powers. Vampires from the same clans grouped together in the beginning because they had mutual interests (they were the best of friends, really) and because they had the same or similar powers. (They invited the others in from time to time, because vampires didn’t discriminate.)

John Deacon’s clan, in particular, had a nasty reputation regarding its occupants (if they could be called that.) They were seen as nothing special, and most vampire clans disregarded them. They faded into the background of every feud, and in the history books, there was little to no mention of it. Most people didn’t even know they existed. (All vampires were taught the proper history of the wars, of course, unless you were Sired by one of the aforementioned rebel vampires, then you weren’t taught, and all of your history was incorrect.)

John Deacon had no chance to even learn the proper history of vampires, so he made do with the few books and diaries scattered around Count Evans’ mansion which was repossessed by the bank after he died. (He had a few outstanding payments, and his insurance didn’t cover post-mortem mortgages.)

\-----

The month of October begins a cold one, the days are short and the nights long, October a celebration of the creatures of the night. The mornings begin dewey and damp, with frequent downpours of rain well into the evening. 

The days are wet and windy, the lashing of the wind cutting into the pale English skin of the population, their faces red with blood and the common cold. But the familial joy of the spooky season is evident in the sparkling eyes, though it may not be as intense as it is around Christmas.

The day dawns later than it did during the summer, and it ends earlier. John knows that as the month progresses the dewey mornings will turn frosty, and the spirit of the season will dig into his bones. The thinning of the gap between the temporal world and the afterlife empowering the children of the night, building the atmosphere leading up to Halloween. 

John doesn't come back to see Freddie and Roger again, though he yearns to be back in their company. His spirit longs to be with the two vampires, to get to know them, to find out what makes them tick. The engineer in him can't resist such a mystery, a chance to unravel what hides beneath their friendly facades, beyond what he could tell from their auras.

It takes a while before anything exciting really happens in John's life. As a matter of fact, the most exciting thing he did was go to the shops to buy some cheese. He may be a vampire, and he may feed on blood, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't appreciate fine cuisine such as cheese on toast. 

He shuffles into the living room of his apartment - if it can even be called that. The shithole he's living in has notably few perks, though it's greatest one is the extremely cheap rent. The paint on the walls of the apartment is chipping and peeling, and the furniture he has is sparse and uninviting. The paint itself is an ugly beige, covering whitewashed walls that would honestly have been better than the colour that was currently on them. 

He hides his tired yawn behind a hot cup of coffee, the liquid warming his insides as much as it can without a heartbeat. He's not that pale for a vampire, and his long brown hair is frizzy and mussed. He covers another yawn with another sip of the coffee, hoping that the caffeine would kick in soon.

He doesn't technically need to sleep, but it's a luxury he lets himself indulge in. He goes about his day as normal, the routine making him relax and space out, begin people watching - made much easier by his gift of seeing auras. He could always see them, since he was a kid and creeped out the kids in his class, and made the girls in high school come to him for him to, quote-on-quote, "read their auras." But to him, auras aren't something he reads, they're something he interprets like they are a totally different language that he was somehow born able to understand. 

He sees something, something beautiful and magnificent, it's the most unique aura John has ever seen, speckled with stars, constellations reflected within their depths, shadowed by emotional darkness yet it only amplified the bright parts, never detracting from them. It was only after John looked past the man's aura did he see the striking curly hair softening the sharp angles of his face and his tall thin body. He was carrying a mountain of textbooks, and John was surprised at how a man that thin could carry that many books.

He only watched for a moment as the man hurried past quickly, his aura leaving a trail of what looked like pixie dust behind him that faded as he walked further away from it. John needed to find that man, he was important. John didn’t know why, and if he was being honest, didn’t really care to know why, but he was, he was very important. 

A week later John was back. In the same spot he was in before, and there he was, curly-haired man, with the books and the presence. John had forgotten how attractive he was, or maybe he never even noticed, given that he had only seen him once before, a week ago, for only a few seconds. He seemed so much more beautiful the second time around, the mystical aura surrounding him seemed brighter, happier. He wasn’t rushing towards the tube station, rather, he was taking his time walking to it, and his body language no longer seemed as weighed down as it was before, but the difference was only noticeable after John had seen him without that burden.

And he was a vampire. Now that John had seen him for longer than a couple of seconds, he could tell that the darkness in his aura spread not only to his emotions but to who he was. 

But John wasn’t a stalker, he wasn’t going to sit here week after week, hoping to see a beautiful college student vampire with a breathtaking aura and stunning looks. He wasn’t that pathetic. And, even though he may have a larger chance than he thought he did, now that he knew that he was a vampire, he still didn’t have a chance.

John was many things, but he wasn’t raised to be a creep. He was raised to be a good person, that respected other people, and he wasn’t going to change that because he was captivated by someone. Besides, he doesn’t even know the man, he could be a huge douche, for all John knew.

Anyway, it doesn't matter. It's not like they could be together anyway, John's only nineteen, and it's illegal.

\-----

By the time 1967 rolled around, there were many people who weren’t straight living in secret, and the Sexual Offences Act of 1967 became a beacon of hope to people who weren’t heterosexual. Unfortunately, this beacon of hope only applied to people over the age of twenty-one, and it didn’t apply to people living in Northern Ireland, Scotland, the Channel Islands and the Isle of Man. 

So only the English and Welsh were allowed to be gay. Luckily for John Deacon, he’s English. But he’s not twenty-one, so he’s still got to wait a few more years. Sorry mate.

\-----

The day dawns, John wants to say "bright and early", but it's wet, rainy and miserable. It's tonight. Tonight, the boundary between the temporal and immaterial worlds will be so thin that you could almost feel the spirits of the dead inhabiting the very streets of London. 

The power felt like electricity in the air, charging everything up, building the atmosphere and then pulling it right back down.

The tension could be cut with a knife. John Deacon doesn't ever do things halfway, and if he's going to the masquerade and festival, he has to look sharp, vampire-like. He could no longer be "plain old John Deacon" - he had to be striking, he had to be different because being plain wasn't something that he wanted others to see when they saw him.

The day was blanketed in an anxious cover, nervous energy could be felt throughout the tiny flat, and John was its source. It passed too slowly, and altogether too quickly, there was not enough time to get ready and psyched up for the masquerade, and still, so much free time left stressing. 

It takes until he's nearly meant to leave for John to actually get up and get dressed instead of panicking about the upcoming event. 

The masquerade ball begins at eight in the evening, though the doors open at six. He assumes that it's polite to be early, but not so early that people are weirded out. His anxiety about the event makes him go to great lengths to avoid having to make awkward conversation or to participate in awkward silences.

He arrives at seven. An hour before the ball begins and an hour after the doors opened, perfectly accurate and in the middle. He spies others from the corner of his eye, all of them in similar cut clothing to him, though he can see that it's also uniquely different. Their clothing matches, they seem to have come in a group.

He stands around awkwardly for a while, wishing that he wasn't so anxiously punctual. There are a few people milling around, their clothing obviously expensive and rich, made from fine silks and intertwined with precious jewels. Some of them are in groups, others in pairs and others alone. He's one of the ones alone.

He sees a pair stumble in through the front doors, their clothing in disarray and most likely already drunk, even though the ball had barely started - it hadn't started, John reminded himself. 

The most unsettling thing about being here is the lack of auras, he was wrong about the masks, they don't even create neutral grey, unfeeling auras, they completely remove them. There is no liveliness, no nothing. John can't seem to feel anyone's aura, the empty spaces where there is usually something are so suffocating to John, who is used to always being able to know so much more about a person from their aura.

As the hour of the masquerade grows nearer, more and more people trickle in - some with obvious money, and others not to much. He's standing at the edges of the giant ballroom, the buffet tables are not too far from where he is, and the bar is just a few feet away. 

The clock is ticking - more and more people are turning up, and the ballroom is looking very packed. It's nerve-wracking, seeing the room fill up, more and more pouring in, each being forced to show their invitation.

The clock chimes eight ominously, and the large Victorian front doors slam shut with a loud bang. John jumps slightly, not expecting such a loud noise. The hall quiets down nobody talks. The candlelight darkens, and a voice beckons him to sit down. It's smooth and dark, and it hides an undertone of malicious intent beneath the veneer of generosity and kindness.

It's an attractive voice, speaking from inside his mind, and just as he hears it he sees the tables appear. There are at least fifteen of them, and all of them are outfitted in a unique crest, with the corresponding colours as a tablecloth - the candelabras are tarnished gold and they hold candles that only add to the unsettling atmosphere within the hall.

John is guided to his seat, a peculiar feeling pulling him towards a table decorated in jade and copper, the colours mesh surprisingly well, and the jade has more of a blue tint than the emerald green he can identify from across the room. 

He can recognise his clan colours, at least. He may be uneducated, but he's not stupid, and the crest and colours of his clan were revealed to him the first time he properly met his Sire - before he was murdered, of course. 

The clan leader, Princess Callidora, was sat at the centre of the table, surrounded by the most important guests from their clan. Her son, who would grow up to be the Prince of the clan, unless otherwise stated, was sat at her right hand, and her daughter was sat at her left. 

The clan officials were close by, sat across and beside her. The newest members were most often sat at the edges of the table unless they were turned to replace a high-status member - though that was unlikely, as high-status members were most often born into their role, raised to become an official and aristocrat.

John sat down at the edges of the table, though not at the very edge, given that he was taking his Sire's place in the court. 

Everyone was dead silent, and soon Count Acheron, the overall leader of all the vampire clans, stood up to give a speech, and welcome all vampires to the masquerade, and to enjoy the experience. He sat down again, and John could see him speak to his son, presumably the heir to the vampire throne - though it didn't look like Acheron would be stepping down anytime soon, at least, that's what the people around him said.

A few hours later, John hadn't done much other than eat, drink and make conversation with some vampires that were apparently very interested in him. He didn't feel like he fit in, everyone but him was having a good time, he was the only one hanging around the edges of the room, not interested in socialising.

Besides, most of the vampires here were stuffy older people, people who John really wasn't interested in talking to. 

It was on his trip to the toilet (champagne always passed right through him) that he saw the weirdest congregation of vampires in his life. 

Two of them were already drunk as hell, and the third was most likely well on his way to it. They seemed to not really go together, with one of them practically towering over the other two, but they somehow worked. Though the tall one seemed to be overpowered by the others' chaotic energy that could be felt in the air.

He pushed past some drunk vampires - the vodka had to be spiked - to make his way towards the toilets.

"Look, I know it's the third time this week, but it's not that funny!" The blond spoke to the other two. He seemed to be on the receiving end of their taunting, and despite first appearances, the tall one looked to be perfectly happy participating in the teasing.

John couldn't help listening in to their conversation, they were excessively loud, and once they noticed John was there the blond turned to grab him and ask his opinion on what they were discussing.

This led to John spending the rest of the evening with the group, and it felt so right. The whole dynamic was surprisingly natural, it felt like John had known them all his life. The blond was welcoming and friendly, but he seemed to have a bad temper; the tall one was intelligent and generous, but he seemed to believe he knew better than everyone there; the black-haired one was exotic and accepting, though he looked to enjoy his drink a bit much. And they all fit perfectly together.

And were extremely attractive, which was a plus. John didn’t mean to objectify them, but they were all attractive, which was very unfair to John, who didn’t consider himself to be in any way like that - he was plain old John Deacon. 

But they weren’t just pretty faces - or what John could see of them, at least - all of them were fun to be around, easy to talk to, they were the full package. And John wished that he could actually get to know them, talk to them outside of this party, know what they looked and felt like, know their names. But even if he got to know them outside of this gathering it would never go anywhere, they weren’t seated at his clan table, and fraternising with vampires outside of your family could get you killed. It was looked down upon to befriend someone outside of the clan, let alone have a relationship with them (not that it would ever come to that.)

John suspected that if it weren't for the three other vampires he would have spent the whole night regretting his choice to come. He had already considered leaving at the beginning of the masquerade, socialising not being something he often participated in.

He never got the three vampires' names. He hopes they'll meet again, though apart from the compulsory ball, the festival not being something that you had to go to.

John's aware that he'll probably never meet the others again, that they had one night of fun and that was that. Except he's willing to take a chance on them, to go out of his comfort zone and get to know them, properly.

And he goes to the festival. He goes there and hopes that he'll meet the others, that they'll have that connection once more. 

\-----

The “annual” Masquerade Ball and Festival was really just an excuse to see who Count Evans decided was worthy enough to carry on his legacy. John Deacon will be surprised next year to not find an invitation to the occasion. The masks were just a way for other clans to sneak up and say hello without people being able to tell which clan they were from. (Though it’s mostly a desperate cling to a tradition that will be abolished in the 80s.)

Most vampires see it as an excuse to get piss drunk and waste their money on booze, drugs and prostitutes. Though they’ll claim otherwise. Anyway, the three mystery vampires were just having a good time, and then a wild John Deacon appears. It’s a given for the three of them to continue partying with the newcomer, the more the merrier. (They didn’t expect to like the sarcastic little shit, but they’ll claim that the moment they saw him they knew they were meant to be.)

\-----

The festival is more like a carnival or funfair, with the smell of cotton candy in the air and the taste of old magic on his tongue. Halloween night tastes like power, like the feeling of being in an old house, like the living mingling with the dead. 

The festival is a celebration of the thinning of the barriers between the immaterial and the temporal. 

There are stalls opened everywhere, tents surrounding him, the entire place has a feeling of anticipation. The tension could be cut with a knife, and the whole festival seemed lively. The magic in the air had a different feel than it had during the ball, the mystery exchanged for excitement.

He felt a peculiar feeling, like a rope pulling him further and further away from the main, hidden, entrance to the festival. The tugging and pulling continued, dragging him towards a corner lit up with a red light and shining with an ethereal quality. 

It's that same feeling that brought him before Freddie and Roger's stall in Kensington Market, it's reeling him in and submerging him in the feeling of magic and mystery. 

The stall consisted of a large gazebo with a beaded entrance and a large Persian style rug on the ground. The entire area was draped with red fabrics and lit up with crimson lighting. The atmosphere of the place was intimate and knowing. There was a table in the centre, covered by a wine-red cloth, and the chairs looked comfortable enough. 

The moment John enters through the beads, the person looks up from the table to look right into John's eyes. They were wearing a black suit and an elegant black mask. They had dark hair that reflected the red light of the tent.

John once more felt that pull dragging him forwards, directing him where he knows he needs to be. He sits down in front of the table, on a chair upholstered with a soft red velvety fabric. He was right to think that they were comfortable looking, and John suspects that they were spelled to be comfortable because even though they look like they could be, they certainly don’t look this comfortable. 

He looks up after surveying the room once more and gets startled by a person wearing a mask sitting in front of him. His hair is dark midnight black, and his eyes are a warm brown. He has a cheeky smile painted on his face and his black and red clothes perfectly reflect the atmosphere of the space surrounding them.

“Well, John Deacon,” John flinches in surprise, he wasn’t expecting this stranger to know his name, “I see you’ve made it here after many tribulations,” John doesn’t know what the other means with his weird remarks.

“Anyway, let’s get on with it, shall we?” His accent is strange, almost familiar to John, but it feels like something is blocking his recognition of the man. He knows him, and he knows he does, but it just feels like if it wasn’t for the memory block he could confidently say who this person was and when he had met them. 

It’s the exact same feeling he had with two of the others at the masquerade. Looking back, he’s pretty sure that it’s one of the vampires he had met at the ball. But it’s impossible to know for sure, and John’s already developing a theory about how the masks work. He assumes that the masks block facial and vocal recognition in the brain of the person who’s wearing the mask (or the person they’re looking at, but that would be dumb, it’s much easier the other way around.)

John decides to actually speak up before he’s roped into something by the vampire in front of him, “Wait, do I know you?” he didn’t mean to say that. He has no idea where that came from, he was just planning on finding out what the hell was going on. Though he supposes that his question could be construed that way too. 

The person in front of him looks taken aback by John’s question, “That’s not how it’s meant to go.” He looks startled and slightly frightened, “You’re not meant to know? How do you know?” he seems to be turning hysterical. John doesn’t know what he did to trigger this reaction from the vampire in front of him. 

“Why, what’s wrong?” John’s beginning to panic too, he doesn’t know what went wrong, and that feeling that guides him is gone now, he doesn’t know what’s going on at all. 

The other visibly pulls himself together, closes his eyes, breathes deeply, opens them once more, and smiles brightly at John, “Well, you see darling, I can… see the future,” he hesitates when revealing his gift, “I’m the most powerful in my clan, and I could see how this conversation should have gone, I could feel how it should have been. But I can’t feel it anymore.” 

The revelation changes John’s perception of the tacky decor and the over-the-top-ness of the character the vampire had built. There’s only one clan that can see the future, and hardly any of them actually have the gift, or recognisably of it. Apparently, many have it, but they see it as an instinct, rather than what it is.

The other continues, “And you’re not meant to recognise me at all, that’s not how the masks work, you shouldn’t be strong enough to bypass even one part of the mechanism, that’s not how it works.” John’s surprised to hear himself be described as powerful, he’s been turned for less than three months, and besides, his clan is the clan of the plain ones, the ones that aren’t special in any way. 

“Sorry?” John apologises sheepishly, startling a laugh out of the other, he wasn’t expecting a laugh from his apology, so he thinks that he has a right to be confused. And confused he is, very confused. He has no idea what’s going on with any of this anymore - though he doubts he was aware of what went on earlier in the conversation. Looking back, this whole conversation has been a mess of confusion. 

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry for laughing darling, but you needn’t apologise!” John stays sitting there in confused silence, “My name is Freddie, and I think you know who I am,” the declaration startles John. He wasn’t expecting this to come from the festival, “Oh, and that was me at the masquerade.”

John sits once more in silence, “I’m sorry, what?” he really can’t be bothered articulating himself properly, especially since he’s been through so much in the space of so little time. It’s not even been one hour, and this whole thing has happened, “So, who were the others?” He continues questioning Freddie.

“Oh, that’s just Brian and Roger, you know Roger,” Freddie speaks matter of factly, before offering to call them in to introduce them properly. 

John can’t believe that he can actually be friends with Freddie, Roger and Brian, who turned out to be the vampire with the beautiful aura reminiscent of stars in the night sky. And they all are pretty and attractive and smart and silly. John hopes that if they become friends his stupid crush will go away. 

\-----

Freddie Mercury had a special bond with Roger Taylor that was never explained by other vampire clans, but was mostly dumbed down to “Freddie’s weird anyway.” In fact, Freddie Mercury’s powers came from the melding of Roger Taylor’s gift of seeing people’s souls and minds, and Freddie Mercury’s gift of spell making and vision. (They called it vision, though it was really jumped up creativity.)

John Deacon apparently had the gift of seeing auras, but what he really saw was their hearts and souls. This special duality of gifts from John and Roger guaranteed that they would have a bond that transcended the body. (Though it was as unexplained as Freddie and Roger’s, it could never come close to the level of deepness that centuries together created.)

In fact, Brian May was the one who could see the future. He was a visionary who would tell when things happened. Well, he couldn’t really see the future, no one could, but he could just feel when something was going to happen, a kind of intuition. It was more reliable than the chaotic foreshadowing of Freddie and Roger’s joint “fortune telling” but not as clear cut from his usual gift. 

\-----

It’s not easy being friends with vampires as beautiful as Freddie, Brian and Roger. It’s also not easy living with people with as intense personalities as Freddie, Brian and Roger. After moving in about a month ago, he’s been taking care of these disasters. And they are disasters, from killer hangovers two days a week, to meltdowns over what to wear. Even Brian is an unmitigated disaster. 

But even though John has to take care of them, he wouldn’t change it for the world, it’s so much better than living alone ever was. Though he still has to deal with his stupid crush, that by now has probably progressed to more than that, but he can deal with Roger’s constant need for physical affection, Brian’s need for reassurance and Freddie draping himself over everyone like a cat. 

And living with them has made their auras so much brighter, Freddie and Roger’s still seem drabber when they are split apart from one another, and Brian’s still shines like stars when he’s alone. But together they seem like part of a whole, like the eighth wonder of the world. It’s beautiful. 

It gets even more beautiful after they confess. It’s like their auras are mingling and bringing out the best in each other like they bring out the colours that were hidden. John feels honoured to be a part of something so special. 

(It gets even better after they break into the seventies music scene, but that’s for another time.)


End file.
